The Raven – E.A. Poe ( pt Bookblog )

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore–
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
„‘Tis some visiter,” I muttered, „tapping at my chamber door–
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow–sorrow for the lost Lenore–
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore–
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me–filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
„‘Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door–
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
„Sir,” said I, „or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”–here I opened wide the door–
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, „Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, „Lenore!”–
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
„Surely,” said I, „surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore–
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;–
‘Tis the wind and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door–
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door–
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
„Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, „art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore–
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, „Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning–little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door–
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as „Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered–
Till I scarcely more than muttered: „Other friends have flown before–
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said „Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
„Doubtless,” said I, „what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore–
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never–nevermore.'”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore–
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking „Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
„Wretch,” I cried, „thy God hath lent thee–by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite–respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, „Nevermore.”

„Prophet!” said I, „thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or devil!–
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted–
On this home by Horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore–
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, „Nevermore.”

„Prophet!” said I, „thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore–
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore–
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, „Nevermore.”

„Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting–
„Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!–quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven, „Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted–nevermore!

Anunțuri

Inspirational Speech

” That’s a team, gentlemen, and either, we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals ! ”  … Wonderfull !!

Paine si circ

Se pare ca domn’ doctor , in speranta de a-si creste cu cateva puncte ratingul electoral, tine mortis sa duca Bucurestiul in Guinness Book.

Edilul nostru stie foarte bine ca vechea reteta de ” paine sau circ ” nu da gres niciodata si de aceea in perioada urmatoare ne va servi din plin din ambele.

Prima tentativa ( singura laudabila dealtfel ) va avea loc chiar in acest weekend cand se doreste sa se mobilizeze 4000 de Mosi Craciun care sa marsaluiasca pe strazile capitalei (recordul actual este de 3618 si a fost inregistrat la Taipei ) .

Vor urma pe 27.12 si 28.12 cel mai lung carnat din lume ( 2250 m ) si cel mai lung tort din lume ( 140 m ).

Sunt sigur ca lucrurile de mai sus le-ati aflat deja din media de mai mult timp. De ce am mai scris atunci postul asta? …..Pentru ca azi am descoperit site-ul unde te poti inscrie daca vrei sa fii unul dintre cei 4000 de Mosi Craciun. Pana acum sunt cam 1000 de inscrisi si mai sunt 3 zile.
Eu personal ma indoiesc ca se va reusi mobilizarea a 4000 de oameni dar…ramane sa aflam duminica.

Pana atunci, daca iti plac copii sau daca pur si simplu vrei sa te distrezi, inscrie-te aici si vino duminica 21.12.2008, la ora 12,  in Piata Constitutiei.

Ti se va da costumul de Mos si sacul cu daruri iar tu nu va trebui decat sa ajuti la impartirea lor.

Eu sigur voi fi acolo cu „terorista” mea 🙂

marsul-mosilor1

Angelina ?? !!

angelina

Garantat nu este trucaj ! Numai una din ele este cea originala ! Cealalta este Tiffany Claus. Este actrita, are 28 de ani si locuieste in LosAngeles.

Pentru mai multe fotografii o  puteti vizita aici .

Achmed – The Dead Terrorist – Jingle Bombs

Jeff Dunham – pur  si simplu GENIAL !!!

Pentru fani aici gasiti doua showuri de peste o ora fiecare.